


The Room of Stars

by NimWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Hufflepuff Aziraphale (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Slytherin Crowley (Good Omens), hogwarts students au, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: Crowley has been antagonizing Aziraphale since first year—they’re opposites. Water and oil. Grape juice and wine.The problem is, Crowley’s in love with him.After teasing him all these years, he knows there’s no hope Aziraphale will ever feel the same. But when a herbology presentation gone wrong calls them together, other questions suddenly form.Will they finish the potion in time? What did their family’s do so long ago? And will they fall in love in the room of stars?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 96





	1. The Firewrangler

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off an old RP of mine that I loved dearly. Unfortunately, my old RP partner did not answer my inquiries about whether she’d like to be credited at all. If she does I will put her name up—for now, just look forward to the chapters to come!

“Crowley, you've gotten us lost!” Aziraphale's voice whined in the darkness.  
Crowley smirked.  
He was in the Forbidden Forest, which was already cool enough. Factor in that was way past curfew and Aziraphale was stuck beside him, mumbling about how stupid Crowley was because he'd gotten them lost.  
Crowley was having the time of his life.  
“Relax, angel,” he drawled. The nickname slid off his tongue with venom—he'd been calling Aziraphale that since first year. Aziraphale—perfect little angel, A+ student, pureblood, certainly in line to be Hufflepuff Headboy. And he despised being reminded of it.  
“Will you ever stop calling me that?” he hissed, annoyed. “We have to focus! I know you've got no idea where we are!”  
“We'll figure it out after we find the taraxacom,” Crowley said. The reason they were both breaking the rules—they'd gotten paired up for a Herbology project and Crowley had gotten the idea to go find a taraxacom, commonly known as the Firewrangler, in the Forbidden Forest. He was sure if they presented the flame-spitting plant they'd get an A. Aziraphale put up a front about how wrong it was to break the rules, but Crowley knew he'd do anything for the sake of intellectual property.  
“Well, we should have come during the day, when their petals are splayed,” Aziraphale said indignantly.  
“Oh yes, during the day. When all students are free to roam the Forbidden Forest and no one is there to stop them,” Crowley retorted, rolling his eyes. “Just be patient, we have nothing to worry about.”  
He wasn't sure if that was true—but he'd long ago built up a wall of self-defense so thick he rarely feared anything outside of bad grades or being caught ogling the Hufflepuff.  
As far as the latter, he'd hoped he could return to Hogwarts this year to find his feelings towards Aziraphale gone, but they were still there, ever present in the annoyingly little lock box of his heart. He hated how much he liked Aziraphale, how that little sneer the Hufflepuff gave him made him want to kiss him irrationally more. They'd been mortal enemies since first year—Aziraphale with his pureblood, Ministry of Magic family, and Crowley, a halfblood Slytherin with a Death Eater for a father. They were made to hate each other—and Crowley was positive Aziraphale did hate him, but he. . .he couldn't shake his own feelings. If anything, they kept growing stronger.  
He pushed the thought out of his mind and murmured a quick “lumos” to light the way. He had a hard time seeing in the dark, he always had. Apparently unbeknownst to his father, infant wizards are not meant to be give an animagus. As a result, there had been a mistake and now Crowley had serpentine yellow eyes both when he was in wizard form and in snake. He had to wear sunglasses around all muggles—and he more often than not wore them around school as well. Occasionally he would take them off to scare first years.  
“This looks promising,” he muttered, moving towards a particularly gnarled plant.  
“You said that about the last one,” Aziraphale huffed. Crowley paid him no mind and touched the plant. Sure enough, it unfurled to reveal the bright red petals he wanted to see.  
“This is it, give me the pot,” he hissed. Aziraphale's eyes widened and he handed him the pot. Very gently and carefully, Crowley uprooted the plant and transferred it to the warm soil they'd prepared earlier. To his relief, the plant closed again, content with it's new home.  
“Now let's get out of here,” Aziraphale said. Crowley stood and started back the way they'd come. 

It took paying no attention to a huffing and muttering Aziraphale and acute focus on their path for them to return to the edge. Crowley considered it lucky at all that they got back safely, since he really had been lost with no clue how to get back.  
They stood at the edge of the grounds to part ways.  
“Don't forget—bounce facts. Build off of something I say and vice versa,” Aziraphale said primly.  
“I know, I know,” Crowley said. “I'm top in this class, remember?”  
“Tied for top,” Aziraphale corrected.  
Right, that last test had put Aziraphale up there with him.  
“Whatever. Just don't fuck up the project and I'll keep the plant alive,” Crowley said.  
“Right,” Aziraphale said, and stalked away.  
Crowley headed back to his dorms with an odd feeling in his chest. 

Aziraphale had promised himself he'd get his act together this year.  
He would get straight A's, he would become a prefect, and he'd make sure Hufflepuff won House Cup.  
No pressure at all.  
The biggest obstacle in his way was, of course, Crowley. He didn't know why the annoying bastard relentless teased and antagonized him, but he was determined to play none of his games this year. He would return no jinxes or retort to any comments. After this project, he would simply ignore him.  
He hoped.

Herbology was right after breakfast.  
Usually, if Aziraphale was partnered with someone for a project that happened to be the first class of the day, he would take it upon himself to go confer with them during their meal to discuss notes and such. But he knew better than to do such a thing with Crowley—who sat at the Slytherin table surrounded by his...friends. Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur. A gang of delinquents who terrorized Hogwarts with annoying pranks and malicious attempts at getting out of classes. Aziraphale disapproved, of course, and so did all the other Hufflepuffs. In fact, every other house besides a few stray Ravenclaws hated Crowley and his gang.  
They didn't seem at all bothered by it, though, and continued to make transforming Hogwarts into the most obnoxiously inconvenient school ever their number one goal.  
So Aziraphale sat back and ate his breakfast alone. 

“Gabriel and Michael, you're next,” Professor Sprout said.  
Aziraphale watched the other presentations lazily. They were all on basic magical botany, nothing he'd never seen or studied yet. He may have hated going in the forest, and he would never say it out loud...but Crowley's idea to use the Firewrangler was good. They'd certainly outshine everyone else.  
“Crowley and Aziraphale, you're up!”  
Aziraphale followed Crowley to the front of the classroom. The Firewrangler was in Crowley's hands, petals open in the light.  
“For our presentation, we've brought in a taraxacom, better known as the Firewrangler,” Aziraphale said proudly.  
“The elusive plant was brought to Ireland and Scotland after wizards created the hybrid in Indonesia, during the late 16th century. They found it couldn't stand the warm climate and immigrated it here, where it quickly began to thrive,” Crowley continued for him.  
Aziraphale almost smiled. This was going. . . .well. The class seemed interested, and so did Professor Sprout.  
“The Firewrangler only displays its flame-red petals during the day, and at night they close to protect the delicate pores that soak in the carbon they need to produce their flames. Flames, which are easily controllable and accessible through a simple incantation,” Aziraphale said. “Which Crowley and I will now demonstrate.”  
Aziraphale lifted his applewood wand, and Crowley did the same with his ebony one.  
They said the simple spell together.  
And the room exploded in light.


	2. Ad Gemini

“YOU FUCKED UP THE SPELL!”

Aziraphale's curls were singed, and he could barely see Crowley through the plume of smoke engulfing the room, but he knew his expression was one of fury.  
“I did not! I've done this spell a dozen times!”  
“So have I!”  
“EVERYONE OUT!” Professor Sprout cried as a chorus of coughs filled the room.

Aziraphale, shocked and spiteful, filed out with everyone else.   
  
Crowley was at the far end of the corridor, nursing the Firewrangler in his arms with magic. Obviously no one could see him doing that—it would soil his reputation.   
If it wasn't already soiled.   
At least he could pass that off to the other Slytherin's as a scheme to get out of Herbology, but their approval wouldn't fix his grade.   
The plant in his arms began to perk up again, and he knew he'd saved it for now.   
He kept to the back until it was time for him to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts so Aziraphale wouldn't catch wind of him.  
  
Mistakes with spells happen.   
They happen all the time, especially in a school of magic where all the wizards and witches within are primarily inexperienced.   
But they didn't happen to Aziraphale, especially not with a spell _this_ simple.   
And as much as he hated to admit. . .Crowley was a good wizard, powerful, even. His casting technique had always been excellent and earned him top marks. He wouldn't fumble with something like this either.   
So Aziraphale did what Aziraphale loved to do: he read.   
  
He had a two hour break, and he always spent it in the library anyway. He didn't exactly have any friends—he had people he said hi to, people who were friendly to him and people he chatted with passively during assignments. But they disappeared when they were not forced to be around him—they went back to their real friends, and Aziraphale to his books.   
He supposed that was fine—he'd always been somewhat introverted. It didn't bother him one bit. Not a smidge.   
He had been reading a large volume on the history of American magic recently, but instead of going to the page he'd marked there, he took out a different tome altogether.   
_'Tragic Magic; How and Why Magic Goes Wrong'.  
_ And for the next two hours, he read.   
  
Crowley put the Firewrangler, whom he'd now deemed “Robert” in the Room of Requirement. He had plenty of space to water and care for it there.   
The Room of Requirement was his favorite place at Hogwarts—a hidden gem he returned to constantly. Usually it took the form of a wide, round room with a ceiling made of the night sky. Often he'd sit for hours beneath it, naming stars and constellations, observing every meteor shower or red moon at his leisure.   
Space was a fascination of his, though he would never have dmitted that to anyone. But if large tomes on the subject disappeared from the library for a week or two at a time—well, he knew where to find them, at least.   
He would also like to sit, on a nice fluffy blanket he kept there, and nap or do homework. It was his sanctuary, manifested specifically for him. Sometimes he spent meal times there as opposed to socializing in the Great Hall.   
A safe haven.   
He never expected to share it with anyone else.   
  
“CURSE!” Aziraphale loudly announced, slamming a huge book in front of him.   
Crowley blinked and pushed aside his breakfast.   
“Spells don't work like that angel, you actually have to say a curse to make it—“  
“Shut up.” Aziraphale scowled and opened the volume to the page he'd marked. “Curse, Crowley, and listen carefully lest it fly through that flighty head of yours—“  
“I'd rather not, I am trying to eat in peace—“  
“This is _IMPORTANT_!” Aziraphale snapped. Crowley raised his eyebrows. He had his attention. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “There's a curse, Ad Gemini, that renders the descendants of two people unable to properly perform magic in the close presence of the other. It forms when an unforgivable act is performed—something truly disturbing.”   
Crowley's stomach sank. He knew this was a real possibility. After all, his father was a Death Eater—he had no doubt he done many horrific, unnecessary acts of terror in his lifetime.   
Aziraphale looked at him pointedly.   
“Well? Do you think—“  
“We'll talk after potions,” Crowley hissed suddenly. “Leave the book with me.”

Aziraphale blinked, but nodded and returned to the Hufflepuff table.

Aziraphale watched Crowley from the corner of his eye throughout potions. He hated the fact that he'd have to interact with him more, but there was simply no way to avoid it. If what he read was true, this could potentially affect his grades! Not being able to perform magic with Crowley in his close vicinity would simply be monstrous. They had too many classes together this year—he wished he could've seen Crowley's schedule before picking his own, but it was too late for that now.   
When class was over, he waited impatiently for Crowley, but he didn't see him leave the classroom, even when the next throng of students entered.   
His eyebrows knit. Where was he? Surely he couldn't have escaped his notice?   
He had a break for an hour, so he waited. Sure enough, Crowley appeared when the next group of students left the class.   
He grabbed Aziraphale's arm almost urgently.   
“Room of Requirement,” he hissed.   
Aziraphale followed.


	3. The Potion

Aziraphale's Room of Requirement always took the same form—it was huge, empty room, except for a roaring fireplace, a worn sofa, and a soft red carpet that his cat Plato loved to lounge across.   
Seeing as they both entered at the same time, the Room seemed to grow a bit confused. It manifested Aziraphale's cozy reading place but also Crowley's plant, a huge cauldron, and a rather large tree that his own pet, an exotic python, was draped around.   
Aziraphale wondered briefly if Crowley spoke Parseltongue and could actually communicate with the reptile, or if he chose it purely because it matched his unnatural eyes and scared the daylights out of first years.   
Crowley dragged him to the cauldron, let go of him, and started pulling random potion ingredients out of his robe.   
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.   
“Crowley? What is all this?”  
“The cure,” Crowley grunted. “To our dilemma. Did you happen to read the next chapter of that book?”   
Aziraphale shook his head, blushing a bit.   
“Well, if you had, you'd have seen that there is a way to fix this damn curse thingy. It's a reverse potion, but it takes a lot of work.”   
Aziraphale watched as Crowley started piling ingredients into the cauldron with reckless abandon.   
“This thing has to be stirred clockwise, every single day for an hour. It takes four months to brew, then an heirloom from each of our families has to be added before we both drink it.”   
Aziraphale was dumbfounded. That _was_ a lot of work, on top of classes. Not to mention, this probably meant _daily_ interaction with Crowley.   
“And I don't suppose you'll brew it yourself?” he asked sheepishly.   
Crowley scowled.   
“Of course bloody not, angel. You're part of this too, if you want out, you have to help.”   
Aziraphale sighed.   
“What do I have to do?”  
  
Crowley was having very mixed emotions.   
Not his emotions ever manifested as anything other than a frustrating, knotted jumble, but this was particularly difficult.   
On one hand, part of him was thrilled. He'd have to see Aziraphale every day, the Hufflepuff had no choice in that. And that meant he got to spend more time with him.   
On the other hand, he knew this would inevitably lead to his heart being broken, seeing as Aziraphale could never love him.   
It was a hard toss up.   
He explained to the other boy they would have to meet at the Room of Requirement every day to stir the potion, they settled on 3 o'clock, as that was right after Potions when they both had a two hour break.   
Crowley would stir for the first half hour (which he would find was more than enough to make his arm sore) and Aziraphale would stir for the second half.   
It was going to be a long four months.   
  
“Just out of curiosity, are the ingredients for this potion stolen?” Aziraphale asked indignantly as he took his turn stirring the next day.   
Crowley was sitting on the couch with his massive snake Solaris draped across him like a blanket. The creature behaved almost like a puppy around him, which Aziraphale found mildly unsettling.   
“No angel, I pulled them out of my arse.”   
Aziraphale scowled.   
“How should I know? Perhaps you'd gotten creative and found them yourself. I won't think so highly of you next time.”   
Plato the cat wrapped a fluffy white tail around his arm and looked at Crowley with what could certainly be seen as disapproval. Aziraphale pet her head proudly.   
“You're right. If only I'd been creative enough to find a way to obtain Norwegian Toads Tongue without going to Norway. Oh yeah, there's a classroom chocked full of 'em.”   
Aziraphale set the stirring spoon aside.   
“Done for today, thank the stars. Come now Plato, we have real work to be doing.”   
Crowley's face turned bitter.   
“You know, you don't have to be such a dick about it,” he muttered.   
“Oh? Because you've never been a dick to me?” Aziraphale retorted. Crowley got up, Solaris at his heels.   
“I tease you, that's different,” he said. “I'm not actually _mean_ to you. If I bother you that much, maybe you should just tell me, Aziraphale.”   
He left, not looking at the Hufflepuff.  
Aziraphale felt strangely guilty.   
  
  



	4. Verigo's Astronomy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mild mentions of sexual assault.

Aziraphale felt strange after his encounter with Crowley. Did the Slytherin actually value his opinion? The idea that he had hurt someone, even _Crowley_ , of all people, unsettled and disturbed him. He decided today he would try to speak more pleasantly to him.   
When he arrived at the Room of Requirement, Crowley was already there, Solaris curled around him like a grapevine. He had those silly glass on, the ones that hid his eyes, and he was stirring the potion.   
He didn't look up when Aziraphale entered.   
“Hello,” the Hufflepuff muttered. “I see you've already gotten started.”  
Crowley only grunted a small “hmmphf” in response.   
“Michael asked me to hang out with him at the library,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands. “So I really must be out of here promptly in an hour.”   
At that, Crowley raised an eyebrow.   
“Why would you want to hang out with Michael?”   
The question caught him off guard. Michael had approached him the previous night, and asked him if he would like to hang out in the library. He was so startled and excited by the prospect of someone interested in being his friend that he'd said yes without a second thought.   
“Why wouldn't I?” he fired back defensively.   
Crowley shrugged.   
“He's just kind of a dick,” he muttered. “That's all.”   
Aziraphale bit back a nasty remark about someone else he knew to be a dick.   
“What about your friends?” he asked. “Beelzebub, Hastur, Ligur? Causing trouble around the school?”

“Yeah, we do pranks,” Crowley said. “But we don't actually _hurt_ anyone. Didn't you hear that Michael groped that girl Samantha?:  
Aziraphale frowned.   
“Perhaps it's just a rumor,” he murmured.   
“I don't know, she left Hogwarts,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Personally I don't hang out with perverts.”  
“Didn't Hastur get caught jacking off in the boy's bathroom?” Aziraphale snapped.   
Crowley laughed.  
“Better than in the dorm room,” he chuckled.   
Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh too. His anger melted away. Crowley was right, this conversation was ridiculous.   
They went back to working on the potion.   
  
  
“He'ssssss a bit of an idiot.”  
This comment came from Solaris, who was lounging in front of the fire like a cat. Aziraphale was long gone, but Crowley had decided to stay in the room to see Robert the plant was doing.   
He looked over at the massive snake, scowling.  
“What do you mean? He's got top marks in every class,” he replied in parseltongue.   
“He doessss not ssssssee that you like him,” Solaris replied. “I ssssssay you should jussst tell him.”  
Crowley scoffed.   
“He hates me.”  
“He doesssn't. He jusssst doesssn't know he likesssss you yet.”   
Crowley put Robert back on his shelf.   
“I wouldn't count on it,” he said. “He's never gonna like me. Not like that.”   
The serpent didn't reply. He'd fallen asleep on the rug.   
  
  
“Hello Michael!” Aziraphale said brightly when he spotted him in the library. Michael, another Hufflepuff with yellowy blonde hair and a lopsided, chip-toothed grin, was sitting down with a pile of homework in front of him.   
“Hey Ezra.”   
Aziraphale frowned.   
“It's actually _Aziraphale_.”  
“Oh, my bad. Its a long bloody name, don't you think? You should shorten.”  
“I suppose,” Aziraphale said uncomfortably as he sat down. Michael was in the same year and house as him—he still didn't know his name? “What's all this?” he asked, gesturing to the pile of homework.   
“Oh yeah, I was hoping you could help me out,” Michael said nonchalantly. “I have a lot of work, it's kinda overwhelming, you know?”  
Aziraphale picked through the papers. Well, if he had done these assignments on time, perhaps his workload would be lighter. . .  
“I suppose I could help,” he said sheepishly. Michael's eyes lit up.   
“Great, thanks mate, I really owe you one.”  
Aziraphale didn't respond, but looked over the papers.   
  
  
Within twenty minutes, he was bent over the schoolwork, scribbling furiously at something Michael had attempted but ultimately failed. The other boy was sitting beside him, casting tiny, idle spells into the air and watching them disperse. He talked idly of girls that Aziraphale had no interest in, and ultimately made him very uncomfortable in the way he described them (“Have you seen that sixth year Gryffindor chick? The blonde one? She has _huge_ tits. It's really a waste thought, she's _such_ a fucking prude...”).   
Half an hour in Aziraphale was tuning him out and trying to focus. He needed a break.   
He sighed and put his pen down.   
“I'll be right back, I need to find that seventh volume of _Advanced Droughts._ ”  
“Yeah yeah, sure thing.”

Aziraphale ducked away between some shelves.   
  
Crowley didn't want to spy on Aziraphale and Michael. No, he certainly didn't. Really, the idea of Aziraphale being friends with that douchebag made him feel physically ill.  
But he did need a breather.   
He went to the library, figured he'd stay far away from the little study area. He pulled out his favorite book of all time—a huge, heavy tome marked _Verigo's Astronomy._ When he sat down and opened it, constellations, plants, nebulae—sprung to life in front of him, a bit like a holograph popping out from the page.   
Except it was better than a holograph, because it was the real sky.   
He sighed softly, immediately relieved, and began to name little constellations and stars. He stared at them and lazily recounted each one, his eyes focused but his body still and relaxed. This was how he'd learned all the stars, memorizing and reciting them. It helped him more than he cared to admit.   
He didn't realize someone was staring at him until several moments went by.   
“Sorry!”   
It was Aziraphale, who was now flushed a bright scarlet. “I wasn't spying, I swear, I just—“  
Crowley slammed the book shut, startled.   
“I—er—“  
“Goodbye!” Aziraphale squeaked.   
He disappeared behind a shelf before Crowley could say more.  
  
  
Aziraphale had to catch his breath. Heavens! He was such an idiot! Crowley must've thought something horribly embarrassing, with Aziraphale standing there and staring at him like that!  
For some reason, he just couldn't _help_ himself.   
When he'd turned that corner and seen Crowley, a galaxy in front of his face, naming stars like he was saying the alphabet, he'd been caught off guard. The Slytherin looked so _different_ , so relaxed and at ease. None of that fake cool, or the sarcasm, or the jokes. Just him, who he really was.   
Aziraphale felt like he had just seen something terribly private, like he'd intruded into Crowley's mind. He wanted to apologize, but didn't know how or what for.   
And he was terrified, utterly, enormously terrified, of the warmth blooming in his chest.


	5. Friends?

“Making Aziraphale do your homework? I knew you couldn't read, but this is a new low.”  
Crowley was standing in front of their table, eyebrows raised. He had decided to come take a look after Aziraphale caught him reading and basically almost gave him a panic attack.   
Michael scowled.   
“Ezra just wants to help me out as a friend, right Ezra?”

Aziraphale's eyes flickered briefly with disappointment. He looked down.   
“Right,” he said softly.   
Crowley wanted to punch Michael.   
“You're a prick,” he told him outright. “Don't even fake it. You can't even bother to learn his fucking name and you wanna tell me your friends? Fuck off.”

Michael stood, eyes ablaze and fists clenched.   
“What's it to you? All of a sudden you care, huh? Like you haven't been a pain the arse to him and every other Hufflepuff since first year? Now you wanna talk cruelty?”   
“Enough,” Aziraphale said quietly.   
They both looked at him.   
The Hufflepuff's eyes were lowered, not looking at them as he stuffed his things swiftly back into his satchel, but Crowley thought he saw just a glimpse of a tear.   
“I'll go somewhere I'm wanted, shall I? No use hanging out with two people who hate me. Thank you, Crowley, for bringing to light the fact that I'm only good for doing homework and not for company.”  
He pushed past them and walked out of the library.  
  
Crowley felt bad, but he didn't know what to say to Aziraphale. He was just trying to defend him, spare his feelings, but he ended up hurting them instead.   
Of course Michael was pissed that he'd lost his free A's and gave Crowley as many subtle shoves in the corridors and nasty glowers in class as he could.   
But in reality, Crowley was still going to have to spend an hour with Aziraphale the next day. Maybe if he had some time to calm down, he could forgive Crowley.   
At least, that's what he hoped.   
  
Aziraphale was upset to say the least.   
It took all of his will power not to curl up and sob when he reached his dorm that night, and the worst part was he didn't even know why. Why would he care what Michael and Crowley thought of him? It was silly. They were never and never would be his friends.   
He soothed himself by reading one of his favorite books from his childhood and went to sleep. He tried not to think of having to see Crowley the next day.

Crowley got to the Room of Requirement first.   
He spritzed down Robert the plant with plenty of fresh water and gave Solaris ample time to climb his tree and rest in the branches. The roar of the fire and the warm smell of cedar and ash might've actually been pretty nice in a different scenario.   
Aziraphale crept quietly in a few minutes later. He looked a bit less. . .posh, than normal. His curls were unruly and one of his shirt cuffs was undone, seemingly without catching the purebloods attention. His eyes were red rimmed beneath his wire framed glasses.   
He sat down on the sofa with his cat, greeted Crowley with a nod, and was silent.   
After about five torturous minutes of this, which felt more like several hours, Crowley couldn't stand it and finally spoke.   
“Er. . .hey, Aziraphale. I'm sorry about what happened yesterday.”   
Aziraphale said nothing.   
Crowley looked down at the bubbling potion and continued.   
“I wasn't trying to be an ass. I just. . .I didn't like seeing Michael treat you that way, you know? It was fucked up. I didn't—I wasn't trying to hurt you or anything. I. . .”  
He was red faced by this time, trying not to trip over his own words. “I think you're good for much more than just homework, okay? I was trying to be a good friend.”   
He glanced at Aziraphale. The Hufflepuff was biting his lip, staring at his shoes. He was silent for several more long moments. Then, softly, he said:

“You consider me your. . .your friend?”  
Crowley's brow knit, and he mollified.   
“Yeah angel, I do,” he said quietly.   
Aziraphale was quiet for a while longer, lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the fire. His mind seemed faraway, Crowley could tell by the way his grey eyes went sort of glassy with distance.   
“Thank you, Crowley,” he said finally. “You. . .you were looking out for me. I shouldn't have been so insecure.”   
He sat down on the floor beside him, and Crowley was acutely aware of how close he was. He could smell that lovely vanilla and old paper smell Aziraphale always had.   
“S'no problem, angel,” he said with a shrug. “You want a sherbert lemon? Stole them off Dumbledoor's table.” He dug into the pocket of his robe and withdrew two. Aziraphale smiled sheepishly and took one.   
“Sure, thanks.”   
Crowley smiled and popped his into his mouth.   
Yeah, things were gonna be okay.


	6. The Half Blood

The weeks progressed and grew gradually easier.   
Crowley could actually hold a conversation with Aziraphale now without fighting with him, which was progress. The teasing was there still, the jokes and the gentle pokes at each other, but no fighting. Of course, they were never seen together outside the Room of Requirement. That was far too risky for both of them.   
There was also another problem they had to be working on—their family heirlooms. They had to be added to the potion by the time it was finished, and both of them had yet to produce one.   
Crowley was afraid to contact his father, period. Never mind to ask questions. Tony Crowley was not a pleasant man, and even in his days at Hogwarts, Crowley's mind filled with images of the twisted look of disdain on his father's face every time he looked at him. To Tony, his son was nothing more than reminder of his mudblood wife, the woman who had betrayed him by lying about her bloodline until they had produced a good for nothing halfblood child.   
A reminder of Crowley's existence was enough to send Tony into a rage, and Crowley did _not_ want any part in that. He hoped maybe he could find a way to sneak back home over Christmas break and take something from the house without his father noticing. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.   
  
Meanwhile, Aziraphale was also afraid to go looking for an heirloom. They had many, yes, and he was well informed about them. But each of them was carefully guarded. Damn his parents for being so proud of their heritage.   
He could just see the scandelized look on Mother's face if one were to go missing...heavens, she may even cry! The thought made his stomach turn.   
He had hope, though. He'd find something. And Crowley would too.   
“So. . .any update on your heirloom?” he asked him one afternoon.   
It was customary that when they did their daily stirring of the potion, Aziraphale would ask these types of questions to make conversation and get updates on the true status of their project.   
However, he regretted asking the question immediately. Crowley deflated almost visibly, and Aziraphale could see him coiling back into his shell almost the same way his serpent Solaris coiled in fear around his branch when frightened.   
It was times like these that Crowley looked small to Aziraphale. Like suddenly he wasn't the person he presented to everyone else, like he was suddenly just a kid again and it made Aziraphale's chest kind of hurt.   
He looked back down at the potion and pretended not to notice how Crowley's mood had changed.   
“I haven't gotten anything yet,” Crowley said finally. “You?”  
Aziraphale shook his head. He sensed Crowley didn't want to talk about why, and neither did he. So he just replied;

“Afraid not.”   
And they were both silent again for a while.  
Crowley stared at the boiling prudish mixture for a while before speaking again.   
“There's. . .probably something you should know about my father, angel,” he muttered finally.   
Aziraphale frowned and looked up at him, expecting him fully to say something horrible, like that his father hurt him, which was abundantly clear to the Hufflepuff now.   
“What is it?”  
“He's a Death Eater.”  
This surprised Aziraphale even more—not because he hadn't known the information, but because it was such common knowledge that Crowley hadn't any reason to confess it to him.  
“Crowley, everyone knows that. My parents have been working at the Ministry trying to find your father for years.”  
Crowley looked relieved.   
“Yeah? I just—I didn't know if it was taken as a rumor or fact, so I just. . .wanted to clear it up.”  
Aziraphale nodded.   
Another stretch of silence.  
“Does. . .is there a reason you wanted me to know?” Aziraphale asked carefully. “Something you wanted to tell me?”  
Crowley shrank again, like he'd been caught red handed, and Aziraphale almost flinched at the reaction.   
“No,” he muttered.   
Aziraphale looked away, disgusted with himself. What was he hoping for Crowley to say? That his father beat him? Is that what Aziraphale wanted?  
No. That's what Aziraphale knew to be true, he just wanted Crowley to be honest with him about it.   
“Does it bother you?” Crowley asked suddenly. “That my dad. . .that I'm part. . .?”  
Aziraphale shook his head.  
“Just because he is doesn't reflect on you, dear boy. My family has been in the Ministry for generations and some of them are even scummier than Death Eaters. That's why we're here, isn't it? Because someone in our families made a mistake. A-a mistake neither of us would ever make.”   
Crowley nodded. Then he blurted out something else.   
“I'm also a halfblood.”  
Now that was news to Aziraphale. As long as he'd known him, Crowley had always claimed to be pureblood.   
“Fuck, I'm such an idiot,” Crowley groaned. “I shouldn't have told you that, I don't know why I—just forget it—“  
“Crowley, it's—it's fine,” Aziraphale cut him off softly. “Hey, it's fine.”  
Crowley seemed to calm down a bit, taking in a few deep breaths. Aziraphale looked at him.   
“Did he make you lie about that?”

“I—I don't want to talk about that, angel.”  
“I'm sorry.”   
He was. He was sorry for a lot of reasons. He found that he couldn't hate Crowley right then, no matter how hard he tried too. He looked too. . .vulnerable.   
“Potion's done for today,” he said gently. “I'll see you tomorrow, then?”  
Crowley nodded and stood up with him. He suddenly looked a bit bashful, rubbing the back of his neck.   
“Hey angel, Hogsmeade's this weekend. You want to like. . .tag along with me? We could talk about the potion stuff. Honestly I just want to go with anyone cause Hastur bailed and—“  
“Sure,” Aziraphale cut him off with a smile. “Sure Crowley, I'd love to.”  
Crowley's face relaxed into a smile.   
“Cool. See you tomorrow angel.”  
He ducked out of the room, and stood there for a second, wondering what had just happened.   
  



	7. Hiding

Crowley went to Hogsmeade every year, despite his father never signing off on the papers. Crowley considered himself something of a master of forgery and regularly used his father's signature to sign off on things.  
Usually, he went with Hastur and Beeze and Ligur. But this year, he'd kind of been dreading it. There were only so many times they could trick the waitstaff at Boarshead into giving them alcohol and then drunkenly terrorizing third years before it got somewhat boring.   
And if he was telling the truth, he didn't even _like_ doing that stuff to begin with. He'd rather just have a quiet afternoon walking around and warming his stomach with butterbeer. Mischief was a lot of work.   
He hoped his Slytherin friends wouldn't be too offended he was ditching them for Aziraphale this year.  
That was wishful thinking at best.   
  
  
Hogsmeade day was one of the only days at Hogwarts where students were allowed to dress out of school uniform.   
Of course, this meant Crowley's tight black clothes and sunglasses to cover his eyes. No need to scare innocent villagers with them.   
He liked the way he dressed, his style was important to him. He felt like it was something in life he could control, something he didn't have to hide.   
He was always hiding something.  
He met Aziraphale outside at noon, and the Hufflepuff lit up when he saw him, waving to him. It actually made his chest physically hurt when Aziraphale smiled so brightly at him.   
The blonde was looking all posh and camp, in old fashioned clothes with a little bow tie. It was fucking adorable.   
“Hello Crowley!” he said cheerfully. “Lovely day, isn't it?”  
It was. The ground was covered in deep blanket of snow, but the sun was shining and the icicles hanging from the rafters of the castle were beginning to drip away.   
“Yeah, it is. You ready to go angel?”  
“I am!”  
  
The whole walk to Hogsmeade, Aziraphale was at Crowley's arm, talking animatedly about any old thing that came to his mind. It actually surprised Crowley—usually around other people Aziraphale was somewhat quiet and reserved, but today it seemed he was letting his guard down.   
“Oh dear, I've been rambling again, haven't I? I'm sorry, I'm just such a chatterbox,” he chuckled. Crowley smiled.   
“It's okay, I don't mind it. Where do you wanna go first?”   
“Ooh, certainly the tavern! Come on, I'll buy you a butterbeer.”   
He grabbed Crowley's arm, sending a spike of electricity through him, and basically dragged him there.   
Crowley was grinning all the way.  
  
Aziraphale was so happy at the prospect of being with Crowley out in the open, being _friends_ in the open, that he forgot pretty much everything else.   
They sat in a booth to themselves, and he simply couldn't stop chattering and smiling. He didn't even know _why_ , he wasn't supposed to even _like_ Crowley.   
But he couldn't really help it.   
He ordered two butterbeers, and was commenting on how much he liked the tavern's setting when he stopped to take a good look at Crowley. He realized he'd never seen him in regular clothes before—but his clothing suited him. It wasn't anything Aziraphale himself would wear, but it was sort of charming on Crowley.   
“Is this how you always dress outside of school?” he asked him.  
Crowley rubbed his arm a bit, looking suddenly defensive.   
“Yeah, why?”  
Aziraphale didn't catch on to his tone of voice.   
“Because I like it! It suits you very well.”  
Crowley choked and sputtered on his butterbeer, suddenly a vibrant shade of red. He seemed incapable of replying for several seconds.   
“I—erm—thank you. I—I like your clothes too,” he stammered. “I-I like how you, you know. Just wear whatever you want, don't care what people say.”   
Aziraphale beamed.   
“Oh, thank you! I don't hear that often.”  
Aziraphale was naive, but not an idiot. He knew what other students said about him, about how he dressed, walked, talked. But he tried not to let such trivial things bother him. “I've always leaned towards old fashioned things, nothing else seems. . .nice enough, I suppose. I feel much more sharp this way. Besides, how could anyone hate a bow tie?”  
He grinned.   
Crowley chuckled a bit, still smiling. Aziraphale was just beginning to realize how lovely a genuine smile looked on him when his gang of Slytherin friends walked in and the smile melted right off.   
They sent a nasty look to their booth, but didn't approach them, sitting at the far end of the tavern. Crowley didn't say anything, but he seemed to tighten up suddenly. Straighter shoulders, no smile, walls built all the way back up again.   
Aziraphale frowned.   
“Crowley. . .” he said softly. “Why are you always hiding?”  
Crowley looked like Aziraphale had just shot him. He finally let his shoulders relax, running a hand through his fiery red hair.   
“I don't know what you mean.”  
“You. . .you're not the person you always present yourself to be,” Aziraphale said. “You're different than they are. You're. . .you're kinder.”  
“I'm not kind,” Crowley grumbled.   
“Yes, you are. And something else is—different about you too. I can't figure out quite what it is. . .”  
“I'm gay,” Crowley basically grunted. “That's what's different. That's what makes me. . .not like them.”  
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, momentarily at a loss.   
“I. . .honestly didn't know that, Crowley. You hide it pretty well.”  
He supposed if he thought back, he could pin point things about Crowley that just. . .weren't heterosexual, but only now that he knew. He wouldn't have guessed it, even being gay himself.   
Crowley nodded.   
“Yeah, well, have to. Sometimes I envy you, Aziraphale. You don't ever. . .you're just always yourself. I wish I could be more like that.”  
Aziraphale blushed, and he was about to reply that he could be more like that, but then Crowley cut him off.   
“You won't tell anyone, right?”  
“Of course not, not if you don't want me to.”  
Everyone already knew Aziraphale was gay. Not because he told anyone, but just because it was so obvious he didn't really need to. Did he get bullied? Sure, occasionally. But he wasn't ashamed of who he was. He wished Crowley wasn't ashamed.   
“Thanks angel. You wanna head to the candy shop now?”  
“Oooh, yes.”  
Aziraphale smiled and stood up with him.   
Little did he know, they were both being watched. 


	8. The Clique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff has been kinda shitty for me lately, so I do apologize for only updating once in a blue moon lol. But hey! I won't give up on this fic, I like the concept too much.   
>  And yes, Gabriel IS Regina George and no one can convince me otherwise.

Gabriel was the leader of their clique, that was just obvious.   
He had the confidence, the commanding presence, the looks, the money, the _reputation_. He was the epitome of a stuffy, rich arsehole.   
Michael, Uriel, and Sandelphen (Sandy, as they called him) mostly followed him like a cult leader because he had his parents money to throw around. But there were other benefits.   
If anyone messed with the Hufflepuff's little crew, their social lives seemed to get ruined within mere hours. Gabriel could dig up dirt on _anyone_ , or just spread lies so convincingly that people believed whatever he said.   
So when Michael got pissed at Crowley for opening Aziraphale's naive eyes to his obvious homework scheme, he knew he had an outlet.   
In his eyes, Crowley was _clearly_ in the wrong. He considered it natural selection. If Aziraphale was really dumb enough to believe he wanted to be friends, he deserved to get conned. Crowley was just fucking with him to piss him off—after all, he hated Aziraphale too, Michael was certain of that.   
But Crowley had done more than one run in with Gabriel and the gang. He was a consistent enough antagonist that this was the final straw.   
The problem was, everyone already knew about all the stupid shit that Crowley did and no one could really be bothered with caring anymore, unless it directly involved them.   
So digging up juicy dirt was difficult. They had followed Crowley around for the past few days, and couldn't really find anything significant. He went to the Room of Requirement frequently, but he always did that anyway, nothing out of the ordinary. He'd been going there since first year.   
They could've started a rumor about what he did in there, but it had already been done. Theories ranged from beating off to running an underground drug business right under the school's nose.   
Crowley's life was a little dull at the moment.   
Little did they know, just when they were about to give up, they struck gold.   
  
“I'm gay. That's what's different. That's what makes me. . .not like them.”  
Uriel smirked as he slid out of the booth behind them.  
  
“Not gonna lie, I've probably spent at least five hundred pounds here,” Crowley said as they entered Honeydukes.   
It was actually possible the number was even higher than that. Crowley's father was anti-sweets of any kind, and punishment for buying them even with his own hard earned money was too severe to risk. Instead of trying to sneak sugar into the house (he'd learned his lesson) he brought a large chunk of the money he saved doing odd jobs over the summer just to spend at Honeydukes, hoard his sweets for the remainder of the year, and then have a major sugar crash when it was all gone. He'd never really learned how to handle the stuff since it had never been allowed in his house.   
Aziraphale chuckled.   
“I'd be lying if I didn't say the same. Have you tried the lychee truffles?”   
Aziraphale, of course, was a connoisseur of sweet things and preferred to buy the most lavish, complex treats and enjoy them slowly over time, rather than going on a sugar binge like Crowley.  
“Nah, I'm more into the exploding gum. Singed Beez's eyebrows once, they were so pissed,” Crowley said fondly. “And chocolate frogs, of course.”   
“Oh! How fun,” Aziraphale said with a delighted smile. “I've never done a prank before.”  
Crowley looked at him like he was crazy.   
“Never? Not even a little bit of mischief? C'mon angel.”  
“I haven't! I'm not clever enough to come up with them like you do,” he said.   
Crowley blushed. Did Aziraphale just say he was clever?   
“We can come up with one, it'll be fun,” he said.   
“Oh, I don't know. . .”  
“It'll be harmless!” Crowley promised. “I already have an idea. Just help me with execution. If we get in trouble I'll say it was all me.”  
Aziraphale thought it over for a moment. Then he couldn't help but say yes.   
“Oh, fine. I'll try it. But at first sign of trouble I'm out,” he said firmly.   
“Yeah yeah. C'mon angel, let's go.”  
He smirked eagerly at him.   
Aziraphale smirked back.   
  
Their mission was simple—cover Professor Snape's office in shampoo.   
No just bottles of shampoo, but the floors, walls, desk, _smeared_ with the stuff.   
“But why?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley was going over the concept.   
“Because his hair is so greasy. It's an insult. Think of it like a line of poetry, it's got more value than just saying what you mean outright because you have to think about it and figure it out. We're. . .we're like Lord Byron.”  
“Covering Snape's office in shampoo makes us Lord Byron?” Aziraphale said with his eyebrows raised.   
“Exactly, you get it.”  
  
Luckily, Hogsmeade did have regular shops. After all, it was a village where people lived, and they needed more than just pubs and candy stores.   
They bought all the shampoo they could—bottles upon bottles of the stuff. Crowley ended up investing a large chunk of what was supposed to be his candy fund, but this would be worth it.   
And even though Aziraphale was skeptical, he seemed to be having fun. He was laughing and joking with Crowley, teasing him about dyeing his hair, (of course Crowley teased back that Aziraphale's hair care routine was probably longer than 90% of the girls in their year and he didn't deny it).   
Crowley had even forgotten about the whole curse thing, and coming out to Aziraphale—and really anything that didn't have to do with that one stray, bouncy white curl that he kept trying to tuck behind his ear.   
He let down his guard. He was _himself_ for the first time in a very, very long time.   
And he wasn't remembering exactly how dangerous that could be.   
  
He hadn't spoken to anyone except Aziraphale all day. They were trying to hold back laughter as they left Snape's very slippery, shampoo soaked office and sneaked back down to the Great Hall for dinner.   
Then Crowley started to notice something was. . .off.   
People were giving him weird looks, whispering as they walked past. A couple people yelled out “Fag!” or “Queer!” as they strolled by, but of course Crowley thought they were talking about Aziraphale and jinxed their shoes tied like he always did when someone was pissing him off. He was actually starting to get pretty upset, he'd never seen Aziraphale get so consistently bullied—like everyone had _just_ found out he was gay.   
“What dickheads, does this happen to you a lot?” he asked Aziraphale irritably. Aziraphale was frowning. He shook his head.   
“I'll get occasional remarks of course, but not. . .not so many people at once,” he said quietly.   
“Weird.”   
They reached the Great Hall and sat down. Everyone was sitting away from them and Crowley could _hear_ his name rippling through the chatter.  
Paranoia was starting to set in. What did they know?   
“Why the fuck are people acting so weird?” he said defensively. “Whats going on? What'd we miss?”  
Aziraphale looked nervous.   
“Maybe we ought to ask someone, mm? So you can clear up. . .whatever it is.”  
Crowley nodded. At least if he knew the anxiety of not knowing would go away.  
He called Beez over, and he didn't like the dark expression on their face.   
“Hey, what's going on?” he demanded. “Why is everyone talking about me?”  
Beez sat down with them.   
“Crowley. . .Gabriel outed you today.” 


	9. Out

Crowley froze.   
He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't _breathe_ for several moments.   
This could not be happening.   
“Crowley?”  
Aziraphale's concerned voice brought him back to reality. He looked at him helplessly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.   
Then he got up, and he ran out of the Great Hall.   
He ran so fast that he couldn't hear people laughing, professors demanding to know where he was going. He ran straight to the Room and he closed the door and locked it.   
He sat down on his blanket, hugged his knees to his chest, and cried.   
  
His life was over. The moment his father found out about this he'd be dead meat. He would either “disappear” or end up on the streets somewhere. This was his worst nightmare.   
He could almost _hear_ his father already, telling him he's a disappointment and unworthy of the Crowley name. Telling him he's going to pay for this.   
He was fucked.   
  
Aziraphale's stomach dropped when he saw Crowley's panicked expression. He felt even worse when he saw him bolt out of the hall like a spooked animal.   
He cleared his throat and, as discreetly as he could, slipped out of the Great Hall as well.   
  
He knew where Crowley would be, but had no idea what he was going to say to him.   
“Crowley?”   
He knocked on the Room of Requirement's door, but there was no answer. He tried the handle and it was locked. He sighed.   
He pulled his wand out and whispered a quiet “alohamora”, and it clicked and unlocked.   
He opened it up and closed and locked it behind him.   
Crowley was sitting on the floor with his back turned to him. His shoulders were heaving.   
“Crowley? Dear, are you—are you okay?”   
Aziraphale winced as he sat beside him. He obviously was not okay.   
“Just leave me alone Aziraphale,” he hissed.   
Aziraphale shook his head.   
“Not until you're okay,” he said firmly.   
Crowley put his face in his hands. Aziraphale felt a sharp pang in his chest.   
“Talk to me Crowley,” he said softly. “Please.”   
He put a hand on Crowley's shoulder, and he immediately regretted it. Crowley flinched away from him like he'd just punched him, scrambling away with fear in his eyes. He looked like a deer in headlights.   
“I'm sorry!” Aziraphale said frantically. Crowley's breathing was heavy and uneven. “Crowley, I'm sorry. You're okay, it's just me—“ He held out his hand. “Take my hand and squeeze it Crowley. It's okay. You're safe. Take a deep breath.”  
To his surprise (and relief) Crowley did just that. He took Aziraphale's hand (though his own was shaking) and Aziraphale squeezed it tight.   
“That's it dear, just breathe,” he soothed. Crowley took some deep breaths, and he managed to stop crying and panicking. Aziraphale stroked his hand lightly with his thumb.   
Crowley looked humiliated.   
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly.   
Aziraphale shook his head.   
“Don't be. I'm sorry I triggered you.”   
Crowley swallowed hard.   
Aziraphale hated how sad and embarrassed he looked.   
“Dear, it's okay. I understand.”  
“No you don't. You don't understand, you—your family is perfect,” Crowley croaked. “You're a pureblood, you've got top marks in every class, you're smart, you're kind—“  
“Crowley,” Aziraphale stopped him. He looked into his eyes—golden and red-rimmed.“You're right. I don't understand your life. But I know it's hard, and it's okay to break down sometimes.”  
Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. Aziraphale just wanted to give him a hug, but he didn't want to scare him again. But then Crowley surprised him.   
He scooted closer to him and slowly, cautiously, leaned into his arms.   
Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, and he felt Crowley take a long, deep breath.   
“It's okay Crowley,” he whispered. “This is gonna be okay, I promise. I'll help you.”   
“He's gonna kill me,” Crowley said quietly. Aziraphale's heart sank.   
“Oh Crowley. . . .” He rubbed his back lightly. “We'll figure it out. Maybe we can discredit the rumor, or keep it from spreading home. . .”   
Crowley was about to say something, but there was another knock on the door.   
“Mr Crowley, come out.”  
It was McGonagall.   
Crowley drew away from Aziraphale and quickly wiped his eyes.   
“Thank you, angel,” he said softly.   
Aziraphale nodded.   
“Of course.”  
He helped him up and they opened the door. Minerva McGonagall's piercing green eyes met theirs.   
“I want to see you both in my office,” she said gently.


	10. Requiem for a Face Punch

Aziraphale looked up from his chair and right into Minerva McGonagall's eyes, which was no simple thing to do.   
Steely and piercing, it was rare someone every fully met her gaze. Aziraphale could see the feline in her iris's.   
“Mr Crowley, Mr Fell,” she said somewhat gently. “What happened today?”  
Aziraphale hadn't expected her to be so sympathetic, but he was grateful and let up on his glower. Crowley, however, was actively avoiding both of their gazes.   
“Do you want me to explain for you dear?” Aziraphale asked him softly. Crowley nodded, swallowing hard. Aziraphale could see he was still too upset to talk.   
“There's—there's a rumor going around the school that Crowley is gay,” Aziraphale explained. “And—well—“  
He looked at him again, unsure about whether or not Crowley would want school authority to know about it.   
Crowley just looked away.   
“Let's just say it would cause a—family disturbance,” Aziraphale said quietly.   
“Ah,” McGonagall said. She pursed her lips. “I see. You boys stay in my office, I'm going to consult with Headmaster Dumbledoor.”  
She got up, green robes ruffling around her as she left calmly. Aziraphale kept a hand on Crowley's back.   
He was having a lot of mixed feelings. He had _hated_ Crowley for all these years, but now. . .not only did he not hate him, he _liked_ him. And it hurt him to see him so hurt. If it had been a couple years ago, when he was perhaps less mature, would Aziraphale have helped spread this rumor? Not knowing the consequences it had behind closed doors?   
The thought made him feel sick.   
The door opened again, and McGonagall stepped back in.   
“I've spoken with Professor Dumbledoor, Mr Crowley. You'll be relieved to know a letter is going to be sent home discrediting these rumors. However, there is another matter to attend to.”  
She looked at him, and he had to look back. “I need to know how bad things are. We have people from the Ministry that handle this sort of thing.”  
“It's fine,” Crowley said immediately. “I'm fine.”  
“You won't be in any trouble—“  
“I said there's nothing wrong. Just—could you please just send the letter?”  
He looked at her pleadingly.   
She sighed, then slowly, nodded.   
“You can come back here, should you. . .change your mind. Now go freshen up and get to bed,” she said softly.   
They both said quiet thank you's and left the office.   
“Why didn't you tell her?” Aziraphale asked him as they walked through the empty corridor to the boys bathroom.   
Crowley didn't look at him.   
“Just forget I ever said anything, okay Aziraphale? I—it's fine. I'm fine.”  
His weakness had shaken him and now he was scared.   
Aziraphale wasn't deterred.   
“I won't speak of it if you don't wish me too, but don't think this didn't happen, Crowley. It's okay, do you understand that? It's _okay_.”  
He didn't know how to explain to him that it was all right and even healthy to breakdown sometimes. But it didn't seem to be the breakdown that Crowley wasn't used to—it was the fact that someone had witnessed it.  
He didn't answer.   
They got into the boys bathroom and Crowley splashed water on his face, trying to get the redness out of his eyes. He didn't want to go to his dorm and face his peers, so for good measure he spent extra long trying to look like he hadn't cried. Aziraphale waited for him, not wanting to make him walk to his dorm alone.   
  
They reached the Slytherin dorm, and Crowley turned to Aziraphale. He felt kind of bad for snapping at him in the hallway—he was just trying to help, but he didn't understand that fire he was playing with.   
“Thanks angel. For the record, before all this, I had a really good day.”   
Aziraphale managed a little smile.   
“Me too. I can't wait to see Snape's face in the morning, hmm? I bet by then, this will all be blown over and everyone will just be talking about who did it.”  
Crowley smiled. Aziraphale was so. . .kind. What a simple, wonderful thing to be.  
“Yeah, I hope so. Night angel.”  
“Goodnight Crowley.”  
They parted ways.   
  
Everyone was asleep when Crowley got to his dorm, so he quietly went to his bed without a problem. He got under the covers and looked at the ceiling.   
What was going to happen to him? Would he ever escape the hole he'd dug for himself? Would he have to be living his entire life in fear of his father, in fear of his sexuality, in fear of his own emotions? He felt trapped, and scared. He could've told McGonagall what really happened at his house and the Ministry would arrest his father and he'd never have to see him again.   
But is that what he wanted? Why was he afraid of that too?   
Aziraphale was confusing him as well. It seemed like every day he spent with him, he fell even more in love. He learned something new about him that made his heart soar. He made him laugh, or smile, and wouldn't stop thinking about it for days.  
Aziraphale wouldn't abandon him for this, right? He was too nice for that.   
Right?   
  
Aziraphale crept quietly into his dorm to find Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel still awake and talking quietly.   
Beelzebub had said Gabriel had outed Crowley, and Aziraphale didn't doubt that. Gabriel was a menace.   
He scowled at them, but said nothing as he changed and got into bed.  
“How's your boyfriend?” Michael called over to him.   
“He's not my boyfriend,” Aziraphale mumbled.   
“What's that? Can't hear you over the cock in your mouth.”  
Aziraphale went red with frustration.   
“Just stop it! You should all be ashamed, you've done a terrible thing!”   
“What? All we did was spread the truth,” Gabriel said. “It's not our fault he's a fag.”  
“ _Stop_ _it_. Just leave him alone.”  
Aziraphale was emotionally drained and tired, he felt a lot more. . .touchy, than usual.   
“What are you gonna do about it? You're even gayer than Crowley is, if that's possible. He's probably just gay because you rubbed off on him, ruined him for everyone else.”   
Aziraphale was standing up now, and he was losing patience.   
“I said enough, keep his name out of your mouths, you've done quite enough damage.”  
“Or what? The kid is always so depressed anyway, I don't know what the big deal is. At least now we've given him a _reason_ to be sad. Doing him a favor, really. Now he looks like less of a pussy.”  
That was the final straw.   
Aziraphale did something he had never, _ever_ done before or even considered.  
He punched Gabriel across the face.   
  



	11. Tread Lightly

Crowley dodged his old friends all afternoon the following day.  
Even Beeze, who was nonbinary and probably just wanted to help him—he couldn't stand the thought of talking to anyone about it. Denying or confirming.  
But when it came time to take care of the potion, he felt relieved. Aziraphale knew everything, and he wouldn't pester Crowley with questions and comments about it.  
So he went into the Room of Requirement battered, but still hopeful.  
Only. . .Aziraphale wasn't there.  
Not a problem—it was only five minutes past their usual meeting time, so he sat down with Solaris and decided to have a little snake-to-human chat with him.  
As far as Solaris went, he was a clever snake. He understood plenty of human concepts, but things like homophobia alluded him. He really only saw the natural side of things, so the fact that Crowley liked Aziraphale was all he needed to know to think they ought to get together.  
“Why'ssssss he late?” the serpent hissed, coiling around his branch. Crowley shrugged.  
“Maybe he got caught up in a class or something.”  
“He'sssss never late.”  
Crowley stirred the potion in silence for a couple minutes. He was becoming irritable. Where was Aziraphale?  
“You don't think with these rumors he'd bale on me, right?” he mumbled.  
“Rumorsssss?”  
“Nevermind.”  
His arm was getting tired, so he switched hands. Solaris was trying to go to sleep, but Crowley persisted with the conversation.  
“This isn't like him. What did I do wrong?”  
“You're alwaysssss asssssuming itsssss you,” Solaris said. “Perhapsssss he did sssomething wrong.”  
Crowley scoffed.  
“Not likely.”  
“You never know. Now, are you going to feed me sssssoon?”  
Crowley groaned.  
“You ate two days ago! You know I'm only supposed to feed you once every two weeks, right?”  
If a snake could pout, Solaris did.  
“It wasssss only a morsssssel. I want a rabbit nexxxxxt time.”  
“Gross.”  
Twenty minutes had gone by since their usual meeting time. Solaris fell asleep on his branch, and Crowley was left to tend to the potion alone.  
  
When he walked out of the Room of Requirement, Solaris following at his heels, his mood was dismal. Why would Aziraphale stand him up? He should've known being so vulnerable was a mistake.  
He sat down in the Slytherin Common room, since it was empty and he felt like sulking. But within a few minutes, someone came in.  
It was Beelzebub.  
“Crowley,” they said softly, walking over to him.  
“Hey Beez,” Crowley muttered. He felt awkward, since he sort of ditched their friend group. But if he'd ever really liked anyone in that group, it was Beez. They put up a tough front, but they were a good friend.  
“Did you go visit your friend?” they asked him.  
Crowley's brow knit in confusion.  
“What are you talking about?”  
Beez's eyes widened.  
“You didn't hear? That Hufflepuff you're mates with is in the hospital wing. Got the shit knocked out of him last night.”  
“What?”  
Crowley stood up. He'd been so absorbed in not talking to anyone because of the rumors that he had know idea what everyone was talking about that day: Aziraphale.  
“Yeah, apparently he punched Gabriel and can't remember anything after that,” Beez said. “You should go check up on him, I don't reckon he's had many visitors.”  
Crowley quickly gathered up his things.  
“Yeah, yeah I should. Hey, thanks for letting me know Beez.”  
“Course. And nice job on Snape, Crowley.”  
Crowley managed a little smile before rushing off to the hospital wing.  
  
Aziraphale handled being in the hospital wing the Aziraphale-way.  
Which meant he had a nice cup of tea, a pile of entertaining literature, and all of the days homework with him.  
He felt like shit, and looked it too. He was covered in yellow and purple bruises, his arm had been broken, he had a concussion, and he just felt like sleeping.  
But straight A students don't rest, so he was keeping himself awake as best he could.  
He was sort of sad that the only person who visited him was the Gryffindor he'd paid ten quid to collect his homework for him. He thought Crowley might at least come by and say hi.  
But then he heard the booming sound of the wing doors opening, and the unmistakable squeak of shoes on the tile, and he perked up, hoping it was _someone_ to see him.  
Crowley basically sprinted to his bedside, panting as he threw his things down on a chair.  
“What the _fuck_ happened to you?”  
  
Aziraphale looked _horrible_. Someone had beaten him to a pulp, and Crowley was beyond enraged by it. Crowley had gone through most of his life feeling angry and hurt, but this was different. Someone had hurt someone important to him.  
And Aziraphale, cheerful, kind, _perfect_ angel that he was—had the audacity to _smile_ at him. Like he was just in perfect shape, everything was fine.  
“I-I'm afraid I got into a bit of a spat with Gabriel,” Aziraphale chuckled—though the laugh seemed forced. Crowley didn't find it funny. “He was—saying some—some unsavory things, and—well, I hit him. And it seems he hit me—a lot of times.”  
Crowley stared at him.  
“You actually hit someone? _You_?”  
Aziraphale chuckled nervously again.  
“Ah, well, yes. My first time doing so, certainly, but I think I got a rather good one in. Big old bruise over his eye, from what I've heard.”  
Crowley continued to gape, just. . .blinking at him.  
“And you don't remember anything that happened after that?”  
“Not a thing before waking up here, no. But I'm really rather glad for that, I don't believe it was pleasant.”  
Crowley sat down, and his shoulders slumped. Aziraphale's smile fell as he realized Crowley wasn't falling prey to his cheery disposition.  
“Really dear—I-I'm alright,” he assured him softly. “Don't be upset.”  
Aziraphale's desire to please people went far enough that he would pretend to feel perfectly happy even after a traumatic event, just to make other people comfortable, so he was panicked when Crowley didn't fall for it.  
“What did he say, that made you do it?” Crowley mumbled.  
Aziraphale mollified.  
“He—he said—“  
“Don't lie to me, Aziraphale.”  
Crowley looked at him, and Aziraphale swallowed.  
“Okay. He said some. . .some very rude things about. . .you.”  
That must've hit Crowley hard, because he was rendered speechless for a few moments.  
“Angel. . .why'd you do this? You—look at you. . .”  
“I was just—I was just sick of him, okay?” Aziraphale said. “I'm sick of him and Michael and Uriel and I'm sick of the lies they spread and—and I'm sick of people trying to hurt you, Crowley! I don't like it!” He folded his arms. “The world just keeps—keeps beating you down. I just wanted to stand up for you.”  
Crowley didn't seem to know what to make of that. There was an awkward stretch of silence before he cleared his throat and spoke again.  
“I'll be right back.”  
Aziraphale gave him a puzzled look as he sprinted out of the hospital wing.  
  



	12. The Serpent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

Aziraphale waited for Crowley eagerly. He imagined all the things the Slytherin could possibly be doing—and ended up with a very long list. He was unpredictable that way.   
It was only about twenty minutes before the other boy returned with an armful of items. He scrambled to Aziraphale's bedside and plopped the pile down beside him. Aziraphale looked at it curiously. It appeared to be candy, and a very large tome.   
“What's all this?” he asked warily.   
“Entertainment,” Crowley said with a smile, looking quite pleased with himself. “Candy I had left over—well, actually I only had a few pieces left, so I also stole some from Ligur. He won't notice though.”  
Aziraphale giggled.  
“How very sweet of you,” he said appreciatively. “And the book?”   
Crowley's smile grew impossibly wide, Aziraphale had never seen him light up like this before at the mere mention of something.   
“Well—you like books, we all know that. So I thought I'd bring you my favorite.”   
He opened it up, and the universe sprang to life from the pages. Aziraphale recognized it immediately from the day he and Michael were at the library.   
“Woah,” he said softly. “That's beautiful. . .”  
“Could I tell you about it?” Crowley asked with child-like excitement. “Unless. . .sorry, that's probably too boring. . .” his face fell.   
“No no, dear boy, not at all,” Aziraphale said quickly, wanting to see that smile reappear. “Please, tell me about it, I want to learn.”  
He sat up a bit, leaning against his pillows.   
And Crowley dove into a passionate teaching.   
  
Aziraphale sat and listened to Crowley talk about the solar system. He retained every word, asked plenty of questions, and studied the lovely expression on Crowley's face as he talked about something he loved. He read him passages, showed him constellations in the book while he popped chocolates into his mouth and occasionally pumped the ice on his arm and head. They were both in spectacularly better moods by the time the sun was setting. Crowley had skipped dinner to stay with him. But Madame Pomfrey was getting impatient with him.   
“Really now, its almost past curfew!” she scolded him.   
“Five more minutes?” Crowley pleaded. Aziraphale pouted at her.   
The nurse sighed and rolled her eyes.   
“Five more, and nothing else. I'm watching the clock.”   
Crowley grinned as she turned and walked away.   
Aziraphale smiled softly.   
“Thank you for doing this, Crowley.”  
“Wha'?” Crowley blinked, looking confused. “Doing what?”   
“Coming to cheer me up, silly. And you did a right good job of it.”  
Crowley took a moment to process that, then decidedly blushed.   
“Oh—er. Least I could do when you get your arse kicked because of me,” he tried to laugh.   
“Yes, well, it was still very kind of you,” Aziraphale said in a voice so utterly soft that Crowley had to look away for a moment to regain composure. He cleared his throat.   
“Glad I could help,” he said finally.   
“You helped tremendously.”  
“Really Mr Crowley, he needs rest!” Madame Pomfrey called from her office. Crowley sighed.   
“Looks like I'm kicked out. Not the first time I've been kicked out of here, actually,” he chuckled, remembering a few incidences. “I'll see you tomorrow Aziraphale.”   
“I'll see you then, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a smile. He watched Crowley leave, then the exhaustion hit him, and he fell into a deep sleep.  
  
As glad as Crowley was that he managed to cheer Aziraphale up a bit, it didn't change the fact that those bastards hurt him. And Crowley wasn't about to let that slide.   
He walked up the stairs to the Hufflepuff dormitory. Of course he knew the password, he wasn't stupid. The door opened willingly for him, and he stepped into the common room.  
Gabriel and his friends were there, laughing and chatting. It took them several moments to notice Crowley.   
Gabriel's face soured.   
“What are you doing here? It's against the rules.”  
“I know the rules,” Crowley growled. “Against the rules to give someone a concussion, as well.”  
Gabriel rolled his eyes.   
“You two don't learn, do you? I out you and I beat the shit out of him, now I have to beat you too? Fall out of the tree house as a kid one too many times or something?”  
Crowley didn't answer. He was still standing there, gaze steely. This is when his serpentine eyes really came out. Unblinking, unwavering. Predatory.   
Gabriel started to look nervous, but he chuckled. “Helloo?” He waved his hand at Crowley's face. “Anyone in there?”  
“I'm giving you thirty seconds to apologize,” Crowley said coldly. “You can go up to the hospital wing right now, I'll watch.”  
“What makes you think we'd do that?”   
“Thirty seconds.”   
Michael and Uriel looked at each other. Crowley tapped his foot in time with the clock. He'd given them ample time.   
He took out his wand, and the three others took theirs out instinctively, but it was too late. Crowley waved his, and transformed.  
  


Cries of fear rumbled through the room and the staircase as a huge black and red serpent filled the common room. He was at least twice the size of the largest natural snake, though he would have belonged to a small species called red bellied black snakes—a venomous serpent with a black hood not unlike a cobra's, if he weren't also a wizard.   
He reared up and hissed, displaying quite large and intimidating fangs, packed with enough venom to kill eat least ten people. The Hufflepuffs scrambled back, running up to their dormitories as fast as they could. Several who were trying to enter the common room fled to go find help.   
Crowley's body snapped forward, enveloping Gabriel before he could escape. He squeezed, and he was sure it hurt, but it wouldn't cause any lasting damage.   
“Lissssssten to me,” he hissed at the terrified bully. “You leave him alone. You underssssssstand? You will apologizzzzzzze tomorrow, then you will never sssssspeak to him again.”  
Gabriel nodded quickly, his eyes wide with horror.   
“Y-yes,” he squeaked.   
“Good.”  
Crowley released him from his grip and watched him bolt up the stairs, rubbing his certainly sore rib cage.  
  



End file.
